


*Closing Time*

by SourisSouris



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: Chicago (City), Comic-Con, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7884487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SourisSouris/pseuds/SourisSouris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So basically this - some events that totally did NOT happen in Chicago, but they might have happened in my head while listening to this brilliant song, so I just got it out there for you... you're welcome... If this works, there might be more where this came from... because I'm f*cking crazy, that's why... ;) </p><p>xx me</p><p>P.S. It's also my love-letter to Leonard Cohen, the person who wrote the Book of Love - in my book, anyway... </p><p>Ah we're lonely, we're romantic<br/>and the cider's laced with acid<br/>and the Holy Spirit's crying, "Where's the beef?" </p><p>And the moon is swimming naked<br/>and the summer night is fragrant<br/>with a mighty expectation of relief </p><p>So we struggle and we stagger<br/>down the snakes and up the ladder<br/>to the tower where the blessed hours chime </p><p>and I swear it happened just like this:<br/>a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss<br/>the Gates of Love they budged an inch<br/>I can't say much has happened since...</p><p>https://youtu.be/7-0lV5qs1Qw</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ...ah we're lonely, we're romantic and the cider's laced with acid...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chicago, 8/21/16
> 
> Ah we're drinking and we're dancing  
> and the band is really happening  
> and the Johnny Walker wisdom running high  
> And my very sweet companion  
> she's the Angel of Compassion  
> she's rubbing half the world against her thigh  
> And every drinker every dancer  
> lifts a happy face to thank her  
> the fiddler fiddles something so sublime  
> all the women tear their blouses off  
> and the men they dance on the polka-dots  
> and it's partner found, it's partner lost  
> and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops:  
> it's CLOSING TIME

 

“ _Cider_ ,” she orders in her dry, high class British accent, making his eyebrows shoot up in amused surprise. He cocks his head and gives her what she likes to call “ _the Mulder look_ ” – seemingly innocent, yet heavy with sarcasm...

“ _What_?” she questions defensively.

“How very _British_ of you,” he laughs, trying, not very successfully, to imitate her.

“Well I _am_ British, I’ll have you know,” she shoots him down with a self-satisfied smile of the Cheshire cat and takes a swig from her bottle. Only then she clicks it with his.

“Here’s to...” a brief hesitance, “ _living in the moment_!”

Another sip. The cider slides smoothly down her throat, it’s crisp and strong and tart.

She is glowing and his head is humming with the sounds of the night, the bar, her voice and his own blood rushing through his temples.

He is not entirely sure if she said _living_ or _loving_ , but either way – he’s in. As long as she is...

\---

It’s a night after the show, after a long day of interviews and photo shoots and crazy fans and all the love that makes it worth their while, but they are both glad it’s over – for now – and they finally get a chance to be together. Alone. In this no-name bar on the outskirts of the city that she knows so well because it is still her home.

And he can tell that she feels at ease here, she’s all smiles, chatty and relaxed – he can’t remember the last time he’d seen her this happy and so at ease and maybe a little drunk... Back in January...? Maybe...

He looks around, taking in their surroundings. This place is just a hole in the wall, with old jukeboxes and little booths with sparse lights, neon signs in the windows, a chrome bar with red leather stools and cider and beer on tap. She seems totally at home here and he can almost see her sitting right at this very same spot 30 years ago, hanging out with her questionable friends, with her purple hair, her nose ring and her acid high.

He returns his look to her now, her pretty face with regal features framed by soft blonde hair flowing down to her shoulders, and it’s not the first time he catches her gazing at the bartender with her bedroom eyes and this time he can’t stop himself from making a comment:

“ _You’re shamelessly flirting with her!_ ”

His tone is horrified and it’s only partially an act.

She recognizes it and chuckles, giving him a playful dig in his ribs.

“ _Jealous much?_ ” Her voice is getting slightly affected by the booze, it’s _slow like honey and heavy with mood_ and he likes it – he likes it more than he probably should...

He has nothing to say in his defence. He _is_ jealous. Much. And it’s a new feeling for him – he can’t remember feeling this way since... seeing the pictures of Téa with Tim? He knew right away. He knew her too damn well – he’d know the look of love anytime... And yes, even after everything they had been through, it still broke his heart a little... At least the bit that was left untouched...

And yeah, he can admit it to himself now, he _was_ jealous of Mark – he got the whole package – Gillian _and_ her two beautiful boys. And f*cking Clyde... But he wasn’t jealous of any of those others, whomever the f*ck she had dated over the years... He had no right to be jealous. He still doesn’t – and he probably doesn’t even have a reason – and yet – he feels like telling the whole world that she is _his_ and they’d better keep their hands off of her...

But instead he returns her smile and nods appreciatively – the girl sure _is_ pretty and he can appreciate Gillian’s taste. She’s always had good eye for beauty... And also – she knows _exactly_ what she’s doing when she kicks off her shoe and brings her foot to the leg of his pants, walking over the lengths of his calf, all the way to his knee and past it, to rest on his thigh, all casual, nothing to see here – except his immediate reaction. She glances over to check her effect on him and once again smiles that smug smile, her eyes sparkling mischievously and one of her eyebrows shooting up.

 _I’ve got you_ , says every part of her but her lips...

Those lips are being licked by her tongue and worried between her teeth and he wonders for the umpteenth time if she is aware at all of what she’s doing to him...

\---

She is _very much aware_ , as her foot slides closer to his lap, her big toe brushing just past his groin, her eyes never leaving his except to slide to his lips and almost _see_ the breath that escapes him.

 _“Gillian...”_ he hisses between his teeth, having trouble controlling his breathing already – and she takes it as a prompt, adding just a little more pressure...

“ _F*ck!”_

It’s been way too long since they've done just that and he can’t take this much longer. With one swift move he slides off his chair, grabbing her wrist and pulling her with him, dragging her to one of the booths in the furthest corner of the bar, sliding next to her, his lips on hers before he even sits down...


	2. ...and I swear it happened just like this: a sigh a cry a hungry kiss...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I loved you for your beauty  
> but that doesn't make a fool of me:  
> you were in it for your beauty too  
> and I loved you for your body  
> there's a voice that sounds like God to me  
> declaring, declaring that your body's really you...  
>   
> Yeah I missed you since the place got wrecked  
> By the winds of change and the weeds of sex  
> looks like freedom but it feels like death  
> it's something in between, I guess  
> 

She doesn’t wince or budge, her mouth immediately welcoming his, her tongue shooting out to explore, getting reacquainted with his taste and his feel again.

It’s anything but innocent, it’s carnal and deep and completely satisfying.

He pulls her into him, desperate to feel the weight of her body on his. They are in a very public place, breaking their own set of (unspoken) rules, but they don’t give a f*ck. The rules ceased to exist the moment her foot rested on his thigh and all their defences or whatever sense of self-control they had left had crumbled the second their eyes locked over their bottles. The whole world around them became one huge blur of distant sound and shadow-light and it was just the two of them – and the heat rising between them...

Now she’s sitting in his lap in this f*cking booth of a bar and the music playing in the background is surprisingly good – so good that he’s wondering if it isn’t just in his head...

**_...and I swear it happened just like this: a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss,_ **

**_the Gates of Love they budged an inch, I can't say much has happened since..._ **

\- It must be, because she is grinding into him, her tongue unrelenting on his, her hands stroking his torso under his shirt, fingernails raking over the sensitive skin of his abdomen, setting it ablaze... And when he finally slides his hand under her tight pencil skirt to feel the smooth skin of her thigh, she reaches for it and guides it further along to her center to make him realize that she is not wearing any underwear...

“ _Dear G*d, G-woman_ ,” he seethes, his voice raspy, the part she loves the most, because it means that she’s built him up to a point of no return and just the idea that she can do this to him, have him so completely and quite literally _in the palm of her hand_ is _such_ a turn-on – which, in return, he can feel quite clearly.

He can’t resist the open invitation, locking his eyes and his lips with hers as he slides his hand further, further yet, slipping inside, ever so gently and discreetly – as discreetly as you can finger-f*ck someone in a bar packed with drunk strangers before the closing time – and she immediately responds with arching her hips into him, her muscles contracting around him, urging him on.

He can’t f*cking believe this... They are two very successful and very much recognizable professionals, who have just left quite a respectable event, avoiding the after-party with polite excuses – and here they are – making out in a dim corner of a seedy bar that she had frequented as a college student...

They're in that love-crazed, hazy state of mind - not drunk enough for this to be happening – yet not sober enough to stop it. He likes it way too much, the way she feels, the way she moves, the way she breathes, the way she makes him feel – with her lips on his neck and her hands sneaking between them to undo his pants, never once taking her eyes off of his...

\- And it is finally the look that stops him... Makes him pull his hand away and lick his fingers, one by one, making her gasp – at the loss and at the sight. He lifts her up, trying to regain composure, which is a tough feat in the state she got him into - just by a look – and well yeah, some very smart touches...

“ _We have got to get out of here...”_


	3. ...the open-hearted many, the broken-hearted few...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One by one, the guests arrive  
> The guests are coming through  
> The open-hearted many  
> The broken-hearted few  
> And no one knows where the night is going  
> And no one knows why the wine is flowing  
> Oh love  
> I need you  
> I need you  
> I need you  
> I need you  
> I need you  
> now...
> 
> Leonard Cohen ~ The Guests  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vhy1xpRitfQ

Once again he’s dragging her across what now has become a dance-floor, whispering frantically while holding her close, his arms tight around her tiny form, his lips in her hair... They are almost out of the door when something makes him stop.

“ _So... is this where your college beatnik boyfriend would take you out for drinks?_ ” he asks out of the blue, trying to sound as nonchalant as he can with his hand resting possessively on her ass.

“ _Girlfriend_ ,” she corrects him. Simply, matter-of-factly.

“ _Aaaah_ ,” he nods, turning around to have one more look at the cute brunette tending the bar and she winks at him in return.

“ _Rrrright_ ,” he says then, as if he knows. But he knows nothing.

She gives him a sideway glance, feeling the mood shift rapidly.

“ _She was the sweetest thing_ ,” she says almost defensively ( _Why, why does she feel like she needs to defend her? Why now...? Who is she trying to convince....?_ )

“ _And_ _I did love her_ ,” she adds unnecessarily, suddenly feeling tears prickle her eyes.

He can feel the almost tangible shift in the weight of the air in the room and he moves his hand from her hip to her shoulder, pulling her in, kissing her hair apologetically. He’s not sure what to say, what the deal is...

“ _Does she still live around here?_ ” he asks, genuinely curious about this mysterious woman.

“ _She’s dead_ ,” she responds plainly, trying to not let the sudden emotion break her. Even after all these years...

_F*ck._

_“I’m sorry,”_ he says automatically, an expression so f*cking insufficient – and yet we haven’t come up with anything better than that... No words have been invented to describe the great tragedies of life. But he really _is_ sorry... Sorry for her losing her love, sorry for bringing it up, sorry for making her cry...

He pulls her even closer yet, close to his heart, his hands on her face now, his lips whispering against her temple:

“ _I’m sorry, I’m such an asshole, I didn’t mean to make you cry...”_

And then, when there’s no response: _“You wanna get out of here?_ ”

For a brief moment she pulls away from him, just enough to look around the room full of people in various states of drunkenness, people who don’t give a flying fuck about who they are, and ponders the question.

Then the beat of the song playing gets to her and she shakes her head, grabbing his wrist and saying:

“ _Actually no, let’s stay. Let’s dance!_ ”


	4. ...and no one knows where the night is going...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And those who dance, begin to dance  
> Those who weep begin  
> And "Welcome, welcome" cries a voice  
> "Let all my guests come in." 
> 
> All at once the torches flare  
> The inner door flies open  
> One by one they enter there  
> In every style of passion

 

“ _I don’t dance_ ,” he tries to protest vaguely. “ _I don’t think I’m... I don’t think I’m drunk enough for this..._ ”

“ _Oh come ooooon, David_ ,” she begs, slipping back into her American accent that he is accustomed to hearing from her. At least in public that is... He is only just getting to know her _in private_ , where she only allows herself to be free. With him _._ She is herself. And her _actual_ self is beautiful, unrestricted, absolutely free... and quite vocal... Her _proper_ English is laced with profanities and it’s such a turn-on...

And how could he ever say _no_ to her when she’s looking at him with those wet blue eyes, her hands resting on his hips, her own hips moving against them in the slow rhythm of the music...

 _And no one knows where the night is going And no one knows why the wine is flowing Oh love I need you I need you I need you I need you_ _I need you **now**_

Light-footed and light-hearted they sway to the broken-record tune, until they turn into heavy-footed and heavy-hearted and she leans and falls into him, resting her head on his chest, reminiscing of the last time they were this close...

\---

They had just spent a whole week together in Santa Monica, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company, devouring each other’s body, making up for all the lost time, making out any chance they got, making love in the morning breeze and, against their better judgment and despite repeated experience, on the beach - cursing themselves and each other later, while trying desperately to rinse those scratchy grains of sand off of their tender flesh – only to do it again the next day...

Just because “ _the moon's too bright, the chain's too tight and the beast won't go to sleep..._ ” and the waves were glimmering just right in the moonlight when his lips landed on hers, salty and wet and insistent, and she took him in and he moved inside her with the rhythm of the waves – slow and steady at first, only to come crushing into her moments later, holding her tight while they waited for their breaths to get in sync again, like two lost souls washed ashore, having nothing to cling to in the whole world but each other...

Even long after that their bodies were left with that constant little tingle of new lovers who just can’t get enough of each other and will keep seeking each other until the hunger is sated, only to make them crave more...

\---

But instead they went ahead to spend time with their families – her here in Chicago and him back in New York - and it just seemed too damn long since he had held her – _really_ held her... His body told him so the minute his arms finally closed around her this morning – and the feeling never went away... It was like hunger and thirst all wrapped in this huge overwhelming _need –_ to be with her, falling under and rising above her, moving inside her, over and over again...

He fought it the best he could, trying so hard to behave himself, but apparently his best wasn’t good enough...


	5. ...busted in the blinding lights of closing time...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the whole damn place goes crazy twice  
> and it's once for the devil and once for Christ  
> but the Boss don't like these dizzy heights  
> we're busted in the blinding lights,  
> busted in the blinding lights  
> of CLOSING TIME

Just sitting next to her, feeling her thigh rub against his on occasion, her hands fluttering in the air like wild birds wings, every once in a while resting upon his knee or his forearm, setting him on fire... all that was almost more than he could bear... He found himself trying to keep his distance, to stay as far away from her as he could, avoiding her touches and aching for them at the same time, feeling awkwardly tense and removed, yet so drawn to her... He kept catching glimpses of her looking at him, licking her lips, smiling and laughing, her bubbling giggles resonating in his own chest.... and he couldn’t wait for the whole charade to be over, to get the f*ck out of there, to pull her into his arms and kiss her breathless...

 **_“A kiss that began as consolation escalated quickly into a chaos of need...”_** _*)_

It all feels so surreal – his own words that he wrote years ago based on a vague memory or maybe a wish or a dream – finally materializing themselves – in a sort of _déjà-vu_... “ _a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss...”_

His kisses _were_ meant to console her at first, but it turned out she was _inconsolable_... She needed so much more than that... Like him, she’d been dying to feel every inch of his body on hers, to let him envelop her in his strong arms, lift her up and take her up against the wall – any wall, anywhere...

And here they are – two “ ** _infinite souls using their finite bodies to touch the infinite in the other..._** ” *)

\---

The air around them is getting thick with need, she can feel it pooling at her center, she just wants him so bad...

“ _Why don’t you... take me to the car....?_ ” she breathes heavily into his ear, her whole body quivering with the anticipation of release.

He can’t suppress a chuckle.

“ _Don’t you think I’m a little too old to be making out in a f*cking car...?_ ”

She looks like she’s giving it a serious thought – and the more she does, the more it turns her on...

“ _I don’t know, do you...?_ ” she asks seductively, her hand already sliding inside his pants and his boxers, tightening her grip and stroking him ever so slowly...

He gasps, unable to move, leave alone respond...

“ _Are you...?_ ” she repeats as she scrapes her fingers over his length, stopping to tease the tip and then back again...

He doesn’t respond, but his hands travel up her sides, gathering the thin material of her t-shirt and pulling it up, his lips immediately latching on to one of her breasts cupped in a simple black bra that may be lovely, but definitely needs to go...

He looks her briefly in the eye, as if looking for approval, but she locks his gaze and won’t let go. She’s staring him down with boldness and self-assuredness that knocks the breath out of him, still holding him in the palm of her hand.

“ _Have you..._ ” he gasps, unsure of what he wants to say... _Practiced_? Comes to mind... and he does his best to chase that one away...

“ _Missed you...?_ ” she offers.

He gazes back at her, his mind swimming as her deft fingers continue to move along with ease, a slow, steady rhythm, her hips rising and falling over him already, her breasts following suit...

“ _Yea, I did_ ,” she smiles and kisses him deeply, with purpose.

\---

And as fate would have it, he does have her pinned against the wall, in the furthest corner of the bar, holding her steady, his big palms cupping her firm ass, as she fumbles with the belt of his pants to finally set him free, neither one of them noticing that the music had stopped playing a while ago, when suddenly the neons flare up and they’re _busted in the blinding lights of closing time_...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *) the direct quotations are from David Duchovny's book "Bucky F*cking Dent" and from Leonard Cohen's songs


	6. You Or No One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And as they rode in silence, Ted repeated again with reverence “Pendejo”. It was only years later that Ted learned that the true translation of pendejo was not actually “closure”, as Marty had so readily offered, no, not even close. A closer translation of pendejo, as the old fucker surely knew, would be “pubic hair.”  
> ~ David Duchovny: Bucky F*cking Dent

 

They stumble into her rental car, laughing like teenagers, drunk on each other more than anything. She’s driving of course, she’s always driving - in all senses of the word... She turns on the radio and a deep, rich voice fills the car, phrasing some poignant words to a happy tune...

_This lonely heart’s been yearning_

_The skies above’ve been turning_

_Feels like the universe just grew_

_I’ve waited for so long..._

She's thinking, always thinking, _overthinking_ shit, he can s _ee_ it in her face...

She can _feel_ his eyes on her and keeps glancing over at him, her brow furrowing impatiently, until they stop on a red light and she reaches for him to kiss him hungrily, as if she’s afraid of losing him, as if being an arms-length away from him is too much, as if the ride should never end, as if she couldn't wait any longer...

He responds in like, pulling her into him, claiming her tongue with his, but the light turns too quickly, making him pull away reluctantly, licking his lips to savour her taste on them, his hand resting on her thigh, where it so naturally fits, squeezing tightly, reassuringly, as if saying _I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.._.

And then he starts humming the chorus and suddenly all is right with the world...

_I just wanna be with you always_

_I wanna be around you always_

_I just wanna be with you or no one_

_Making it you or no one..._

_<https://youtu.be/16O3ZKJmol4> _

_\---_

She’s all giggles when they’re sneaking into her parent’s house to spend the night. For the first time ever they will make love in her bed. In _her_ bed. Practically her maiden room. There’s something perversely exciting about it. About _all_ of this...

_And when the night starts falling_

_Even the stars are calling_

_Spinning and spilling out your name_

_Now that’s what I call faith_

_Forever and ever..._

They’re taking their time this time, they don’t have anywhere else to be, anywhere but here...

It’s sweet and tender and slow, there is no rush and it feels like her life is beginning again. Like they have come full circle...

He worships every bit of her body, moving slowly, reverently, kissing her tattoos one by one - the one on her ankle that she got in Tahiti – sliding his tongue over it with purpose, as if in an attempt to lick it away... Then on to her stomach, the tiny **P** for Piper making him smile against her soft skin as he sucks it in between his teeth, leaving a mark, claiming her. Proudly. Then moving on to her scar left by the C-section. 

Their eyes meet as she sucks in a breath, then pulls him in for a kiss, whispering “ _C’mere_ ”, already into his mouth, her fingers raking through his hair, their kisses deepening, their breath lost to them...

_Love is a hurting thing_

_It doesn’t go away_

_Forever is a long time_

_To wait for you to say..._

She wants to say it so badly, she wants him to know how much this means to her. The way he’s finally making her feel – _loved_.

But she won’t.

He breaks the kiss to move on to her wrist – first her right one, pressing his lips against the Hindu letters, her mantra saying “ _every day_ ”...

_I just wanna be with you always_

_I_ _wanna be around you always_

_I just wanna be with you or no one_

_Making it you or no one..._

They are both taken aback by the powerful surge of emotion it brings forward – they can almost feel them ripple through each other. She’s clinging to him, her body slightly trembling, and he wants to hold her so close, so tight to make it all go away.

He’s kissing the palm of her hand now, then the other one, tracing the little circle at the base of her thumb with his tongue, feeling her warm palm against his cheek, the intimacy of it making his heart swell. This is so much more intimate than whatever they have just experienced in those hushed moments of crazy need.

She turns her hand in his to lace their fingers together and brings their linked hands to her face, brushing the tat on his left ring-finger with her thumb and then with her lips. It’s the first time she acknowledges it – and it doesn’t tear open a wound in either one of them...

Their eyes have bled through each other by now as she rests their intertwined hands close to her heart and exhales, lying quietly on his chest, listening to their breathing getting in sync again, their hearts finding their steady rhythm, beating in accord.

He’s running his fingers along the length of her spine and breathing her in. The words keep rising in him like waves, and then, like waves, receding and crashing against the inner walls of his chest before they quite reach the surface.

Then finally one stays and breaks through and he whispers, slowly, thoughtfully:

“ _So, is this our **closure**?_ ”

And it does feel that way – something has shifted in them, the world will never be the same again.

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathes, half asleep, squeezing his fingers a little tighter and feeling him squeeze hers back, “ _very much so_.”

 

~ The End ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it. For now. Thank you for stopping by. As always, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.  
> I'm also always curious to hear where you'd like me to take them next... ;) xx me

**Author's Note:**

> This bit may eventually become a part of this one, if I ever get around to it...  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/6449806/chapters/14761018


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